


(looking for) your name in these words

by CrazyLaughter



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Office, Christmas, Christmas Party, Colleagues - Freeform, M/M, Secret Santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-24 16:41:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17104268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrazyLaughter/pseuds/CrazyLaughter
Summary: Rapunzel,I wish you would let down your hair so I could come to meet you. ;)-Secret Santa"Mate, you're blushing," points out Niall as he reads it.(or) Where Secret Santa notes have a way of turning into love letters.





	(looking for) your name in these words

_Harry,_  
_You would know if you saw me. I hope you've noticed me._  
_-Secret Santa_

Harry stares at the unravelled piece of paper with furrowed eyebrows. It was typed in a small black Sans Serif font, paper torn around the edge signifying it had been cut out from a larger page. He had found it tucked neatly under his computer mouse when he had come back from his completely useless trip to the break room, which did no good to the mice in his stomach. Jeff refused to tell him how it got there or who even put it there. He barely even grunts at Harry sometimes, and Harry wishes he would just leave because he wouldn't want to put anyone through the trauma of being the executive assistant's assistant and all the awful paperwork.

Miracles work faster during Christmas, they say. He has to pray just in case.

What's wonderful is that even though LinerPro Solutions is a boring, boring company; the tech floor knows what fun is. After a year of Harry working there and old office parties later, the entire floor had decided to play secret Santa on Monday morning until it was Friday. Which made him too excited for his own good and depending on such small things for happiness, probably wasn't healthy.

What's even better is that the twenty-something number of people who consisted of everyone but the interns and seniors had roped Harry, the Assistant/Receptionist into the game as well. It had started with Niall chipping in the idea and Liam supporting it and within minutes, Harry was seated at the table in the break room with a container that names were fished out of.

He'd gotten Emmanuel's name and proceeded to give what to buy him a thought. He hadn't even thought about who picked his name. Until now.

Harry looks up at Jeff and squints at him. "You sure you don't want to tell me?"

Jeff purses his mouth and glares at his laptop screen.

He goes back to looking at the cryptic note. Jeff can go bugger off for all he cares because he can see a hint of smile over the flap of his laptop- he's doing it on purpose.

Grimacing, Harry pulls out a drawer and shoves the note in. His Santa might like games of his own.

 

***

Mr Thompson flies out of his office at once, his lapels flapping in the air as he marches on. The glass doors shut with a dull thud, not before Jeff squeezes through the gap just in time with his laptop held up to his shoulders and his face- a chalky white. Serves him right. Whatever it is.

Work had been slow that day- with the Christmas season. Which didn't really explain why any of them have been working at all. They haven't been granted any leaves because Thompson isn't a nice boss- naturally.

Harry glances over the windows to see the purple outline of the sky and he doesn't have to glance at the wall clock behind him to know that it's past six and way past his shift. To his left, the hive of cubicles have stopped buzzing and the hum of typing is light and meagre. Lights are one in just two or three places. Most of them had left and Harry hadn't noticed between the appointment scheduling and the daydreaming.

With a sigh, he reluctantly stands from his plush chair, locks the drawers which have nothing important in them and tucks his empty lunchbox into the confines of his messenger bag. He untangles his ID card from the knots of his hair and wrangles it off his neck with a grumble. He unbuttons the top of his shirt, slides the bag over his shoulder and moves towards the cloakroom at the end of the hall.

Inside, it's too easy to spot his coat. Amongst the expensive trenchcoats and leather jackets that were usually there, Harry's stuck out like a sore thumb-worn down, washed colour, cheap. This time it's because it's the only one left other than two more. He pulls it on and walks out of the room.

Just as he's passing the cubicles, he pockets his keys and stops in his tracks when he feels something light, touch the back of his hand. He draws out a folded piece of paper that hadn't been there before.

 

 _Harry,_  
_You would look amazing in a braid. Fishtail._  
_-Secret Santa_

He glowers at the note. He was flattered that the person took time to imagine and conjure up an image of what he would look like. But, slightly offended at the fact that they would think of demanding Harry of it. Although it was nothing but a mere suggestion, Harry wanted to put the person at fault. It wasn't fair that they got his face flaming in public places.

"You alrigh' there?"

Harry snaps his head up to find Louis's wandering eyes over the wall of his cubicle. He subtly pockets the note and turns back to the man. "Yeah, I'm good."

"What is it that you got there?"

Nervously chuckling, Harry pockets his hands as well, as to cover the note though no one can see it. "My secret Santa wrote me something."

Louis's eyes smirk over the wall before he pushes himself out until his body is seen hunched in a chair. His shirt is as rumpled as his hair, shoes off and socks on display. His tie looks like it's struggling to live through the wrath of his fingers. "Ooh, What's it say?"

"Nothing, really." Harry thinks fast before he's asked any more questions. "They clued me on liking peppermint chocolate bark, which everyone likes, so it doesn't really help me narrow down the list." He feels triumphant when Louis nods knowingly. "Are you staying the night here?"

Harry should feel lucky that Louis Tomlinson is talking to him; after all the man had been working there for an year, was a intern-turned-working engineer, who doesn't talk to just anyone. He called himself an 'outgoing introvert' that had few friends that he used up his excellent dry sense of humour on. People didn't know him and few who did thought he was the best person in the world. Harry himself hadn't known of it until Liam's stag do a few months ago when he had walked straight into the bar to find Louis showcasing his chest tattoo and a shiny blue drink in his hand while giggling into it. Of course, Liam broke off his engagement after that, but the stag party stayed on Harry's mind for a long time.

Louis sighs ruefully. "Looks like it. We have appraisals in January and there's so much left over to do. Looks like I'll miss my Bake-Off reruns tonigh'."

"I watch them when I get home too," blurts out Harry, with unnecessary exuberance.

At that, Louis lights up, or is indulging Harry in some way? "Every time I go to buy pastries, I put on a posh accent and talk to meself pretending that I'm judging it. It's pathetic!"

"I'll tell you what's pathetic," challenges Harry. "As soon as I finish watching at eight, I get so inspired that I go into the kitchen to do something about it and I'll be disappointed because I don't have any baking instruments!" Are they even called instruments?

Either way, it brings out a laugh from Louis, which in turn makes Harry laugh. There's a slight stilt on the conversation, and Harry begins speaking before he can do something stupid like invite Louis over to his shoebox apartment which he hated himself, watch it together. "I don't want to keep you," he says slowly. Mostly because he has a bed and a glass of wine waiting for him. "But, I'll give you a rundown of the episode tomorrow."

When he receives a smile, Harry leaves to the lift. The note is starting to get damp in his clammy hand and he grins at no one but himself.

 

***

The next day, Harry is late by a little. His alarm goes off and snoozes four times before falling out of bed with a groan. It's a routine he has every day, but what makes him late is the fact that he stands before his dressing table and stares at himself in the mirror for about twenty minutes, contemplating whether or not he should do his hair in a braid.  
He doesn't want to give the unknown person the satisfaction of getting what he asked for, but he wants to bask in the attention at the same time. Not many have taken such interest in the state of his hair since he had started growing it out, not even himself. He had let it grow on its own, free to the wind and not so free from tangles. He had his daily share of people scrunching their noses at it, calling it an unruly mane. If an idea presents itself, he should take it, right?

He would be lying to himself if he says he didn't look up fishtail tutorials on Pinterest the previous night.

Sod it, he thinks as he picks up a tail comb from the table and gets to work.

When he gets to the office, it's messy around his forehead in baby ringlets and it's stretched long enough to be thrown over his shoulder with the tuft at the end grazing his collarbone. Jeff is as usual present with his judgmental stare, only- he looks impressed? Jocelyn whistles at him from her cubicle and Lindsay begs for him to teach her- as if he would. He gets a lot of raised eyebrows, even Mr Thompson doesn't say anything about cutting his hair that day and it's definitely a win.

He has lunch with Niall. The man is already wolfing down his dish of casserole before Harry even takes out his own box. "What's with the hair," he finally notices.

"Just for a change," replies Harry, breathily.

When he pulls out his sack of lunch and unfurls the opening, a little folded piece of paper sitting on top of his box. It must have been snuck in when Harry went into Mr Thompson's cabin for a few signatures.

Niall stops eating at once. "Why are you smiling? You look like that time you removed all the screws from Jeff's chair."

Ah, that was a good time, Harry remembers. He doesn't quite realise he's been beaming so wide until his cheeks hurt. He pulls the note out of his sack and unfolds it slowly.

"What's that?" Niall interrupts.

"A note from my secret Santa."

Niall makes a confused face. "You get notes? Nobody does that anymore. You just exchange gifts at the end."

Harry looks up before he can start reading the note in his hands. "What do you mean? People don't do that?" He remembers the note he had dropped at Emmanuel's desk and cringes.

"No." Gesturing towards him, Niall simply encourages. "Go on, then. Read it."

 

 _Rapunzel,_  
_I wish you would let down your hair so I could come to meet you. ;)_  
_-Secret Santa_

"Mate, you're blushing," points out Niall as he reads it.

Harry slips the note into his pocket and busies himself into taking out his lunchbox and cutlery. He catches Louis's eye who mouths 'Nice' and gives him a polite nod. "They called me Rapunzel," he murmurs, feeling his cheeks go hotter.

Niall widens his eyes. "Lol!" He bursts out at once.

"Did you just say 'lol' out loud?"

"I know who your Santa is," exclaims Niall, dropping the fork in his hand. "Would it be cliche of me to tell you to follow your heart?"

Harry tries to hold back his horrified expression, and he's pretty sure he can't. "Why would you tell me to-" he cuts himself off and shakes his head with a grimace. "Tell me if it's a woman or a man? It can be anyone, but I have a strong feeling it's a man."

"Not telling you anything," concludes Niall.

"That isn't fair, Niall, just tell me!"

For the remainder of lunch, Niall pretends he doesn't listen to Harry beg and plead.

 

***

Over the next two days, Harry is buried in printed notes with his head in the seventh heaven. He's always smiling. When he isn't smiling, he's thinking of smiling. There's a note on his desk that occasionally pops up and keeps him in euphoria for the longest, and when it isn't, the thought of it makes him too excited once again.

He receives two every day and by the time the fifth note on the third day arrives, Harry deliberately loiters off somewhere so his Santa can do his job. It's gotten pretty bad.  
Wednesday morning, it says " _I like you. Unformatted._ " And Harry makes it a point to stick the note in his journal because it sounds so simple and wonderful.

The evening's says, " _You pull the hair at the back of your neck when you don't know what to do. It's endearing._ " Harry's hand goes to do just that, and he's melted at how his person could realise before he did.

Thursday is a bad day for Harry. Mr Thompson screams at him for not reminding him of a deadline he made Harry revise, and it makes Harry so angry that he has to listen to the man rant and spit when it isn't his fault. He simply clenches his fists and tries to turn a deaf ear to it, but fails. He's pretty sure everyone could hear it on the outside in the way they pretend to be engrossed by their computer screens.

Harry tries to put himself back on track as he opens up his scheduling document when Jeff walks in, places a paper bag on his desk silently and walks back to his own desk. In his misery, Harry hadn't even noticed he was missing. "This for me?" He asks Jeff's placid face.

Jeff nods.

Slowly, Harry unrolls the top of the bag, lays it down horizontally and reaches in to pull out a medium sized cup of ice-cream with a protective plastic cap on it. There's a note written on a paper napkin inside, mostly by someone like the cashier. ' _-Secret Santa_ ' it says, that's it. Just that.

"You got this for me?" he asks Jeffs.

It's surprising when Jeffs smirks. "I was bribed to do it."

Stumped, Harry lets his face fall against his desktop and then groans in pain.

The second note on Thursday comes bearing another gift. " _You look like you need it_ ," it says with a purple bath bomb taped to it. Underneath, " _P.S- Your smile takes up my whole day. I've missed it._ "

He can see the obituary tomorrow. Harry Styles, died from heart palpitations due to uncontrollable happiness.

 

***

On the twenty-first of December, Harry wakes up as immediately as his alarm goes off. He doesn't snooze, he doesn't wander about. He's smiling and whistling as he makes his morning cup. He does his hair into a bun with extra care and wears a button up that's extra crisp, tucking it into his trousers with utmost perfection.

The good day reflects on him. His ID card doesn't choke him. The tube comes almost as soon as he arrives on the platform. When he reaches the office building, the guard who has a stone face smiles at him. Nobody steps on his foot in the lift.

Jeff still peruses him with disinterest when he hurtles in from the cloakroom. Others pick up on his mood, though. The talkative ladies; Jocelyn, Lindsay and Gladys smile and wink at him. Michael grumbles like the usual grump he is. Louis raises his eyebrows at him. Niall shakes his head and goes back to his work. Nothing. Nothing can faze Harry.  
He does the idiotic task of observing time go on until it's lunchtime. He was so close away from knowing the person who had taken a liking to him, he could taste it. Even Jeff seems to indulge his enthusiasm for wall-clock watching since he doesn't mutter under his breath like he usually does.

When the clock's short arm touch one on the dot, Harry pounces out of his seat and races to the break room. He helps join the tables -or rather, does it himself- to accommodate the twenty-something body of them. Before anyone can come in, he claims a seat along the side. He tries to look sombre as people slowly file in and take up their seats and slam their lunch on the table top.

Niall comes in plops down in a seat next to him, ignoring him completely save for the narrow-eyed looks he passes Harry once in a while. Though he knows what he did to deserve it, nothing can dampen Harry.

Nobody speaks up or says anything until they're halfway through their eating. Since Michael was the oldest, he was given the opportunity to host the exchange- which didn't make sense to Harry.

"Jocelyn's Santa, step forward."

There is no stepping forward from anyone. Instead, Maria slides a small, poorly wrapped box across the table to Jocelyn. There are cheers going off as Jocelyn neatly opens it, while others roll their eyes for not ripping through it. The box reveals a pair of blue mittens. Jocelyn smiles politely and says thanks.

"Maria's Santa?"  
Immediately, Niall plucks out a newspaper wrapped article from his pocket and throws it at Maria. She promptly catches it and rips off the paper as the crowd cheer, to reveal a fridge magnet/bottle opener shaped like a football. She nods thanks at him and it goes on.

To Harry, it goes slow. He's sat on the edge of his seat, waiting for his turn so he doesn't die of anticipation. His clammy fists bunch the material of his trousers and his teeth grit while pretending to cheer whenever the rest of them do. His nape feels sweaty and his trousers come off wrinkled when he lets go of his hands to wipe at the back of his neck.

Niall's Santa turns out to be Gladys, and he hollers when he's presented with a six-pack of Corona. Emmanuel turns out to Gladys's and she receives a tiny cactus with care instructions. Without any prompting, Harry pushes his gift to Emmanuel. He doesn't hear when Emmanuel thanks him.

"Harry's Santa, please," gripes Michael.

There is no movement in anyone for a solid few seconds- or maybe, Harry had just felt time go like that. Suddenly, he sees Louis move from the corner of his eye.

When he darts his head towards him, Louis smiles sheepishly as he nudges his gift towards him.

This whole time. Louis. It had been Louis. Louis had always seen him and wanted him, and Harry could never see it. It was Louis who thought of him and thought of words like that for Harry. The realisation thumps his heart way too harder than it should.

It's only when Niall clears his throat, that Harry realises he's been gawking at Louis unblinkingly. There are no cheers this time when he reaches for the gift. Everyone watches silently and solemnly as if they're in on something that Harry isn't. Perhaps, everyone except Harry knew how Louis felt. He feels like an idiot.

Underneath the gift wrap, there's a rolled-up mat tied with a drawstring around the middle. When Harry undoes it, the mat rolls out to reveal compartments of culinary items- two sizes of rubber spatulas, two sizes of whisks, a fondant rolling pin and another note like all the other ones Harry's been getting.

 

 _Harry,_  
_Now you can do something with your Bake-Off inspiration._  
_-(not anymore) Secret Santa_

The last two minutes have completely floored Harry. His jaw drops as he reads the note another time, and glances back and forth between the note and Louis's abashed face. He doesn't have time or words to say anything as Michael barrels on with his hosting.

 

***

The rest of the day isn't the same as it was before lunch. It has a before and after effect and Harry doesn't know if happiness belongs anywhere on the spectrum. Perhaps, there was a thick residue of shock that didn't wear off quick enough to decipher the emotions underneath it all. It wasn't like he was expecting a certain person, but he definitely wasn't expecting Louis- with the way the man pranced around like he didn't know anything.  
If it's one thing he feels other than shock, it's regret. He wished he knew Louis better. He wished he'd given himself the chance to know him better instead of thinking they couldn't be friends because Louis was out of his league.

Niall stops by every twenty minutes to check on him as if to see if he'd finally had the aneurysm he was waiting for Harry to have. He didn't say much; just came to stand by Harry's desk, watching him with a blank face while Harry attempted to look busy. It was getting on Harry's nerves and he couldn't say it.

So when he hears the sound of a chair scraping the ground at a quarter past four, he knows it's Niall. He makes quick work of running towards the loos before Niall can find him again and kill him with his eyes of a void. He zips past the cloakroom and slows down when he sees Louis stand before the bathroom sign, scrolling through his phone. The corners of his shirt are pulled out of its tuck in a way that's supposed to be unattractive but isn't. His tie is tilted to the left and seems to be stuck that way.

A few metres away, Harry sighs, smoothing down his shirt, tucks all stray ringlets behind his ear, licks his lips and makes himself look presentable. He makes his strut look as confident as possible as he nears Louis. "Hey," he says, and cringes immediately at how he'd drown it out.

Lips pursed, Louis tilts his head, but a smile spreads out like butter on a hot pan once he sees he's expecting Harry. He inserts his phone into his back pocket. "Harry," he says like he doesn't believe it. His eyes are narrowed to slits and there's a poorly hidden gasp in his tone. "Hi."

"What a way to meet, eh?" Harry is set on embarrassing himself. When he doesn't know what to say, the most random things come out of his mouth, and there's absolutely no stopping them. "In front of the loo."

Louis chuckles lightly. "I reckon it's better than inside the loo. Imagine what sort of story that would make."

Harry smiles in response, but it begins to dim when he gets to what he wants to say. "I actually came for something."

"Oh, right, uh, sorry," Louis steps aside and gestures to the open door of the men's room.

Feeling his cheeks go off into their fiery state, Harry shakes his head so hard, he feels his bun loosen up. He nervously brings his hands up to pull the hair around his scrunchie.

"No, not that. I, erm, wanted to thank you. I wish I would have known you better."

Louis's eyes lose lustre for a bare second, and his smile slackens at once. But, he pulls it up almost just as quickly. "It's alrigh'. Doesn't always work out between everyone," he explains. Harry has no idea what he's saying, as he's about to ask, Louis cuts across. "Our office is built on an empire of arseholes. I don't bother with most of 'em. You just make me nervous, though."

Harry is more than impressed with his candour. He raises his eyebrows. Unformatted, he remembers. "Me? I make you nervous? That's ridiculous!" He huffs out a self-deprecating laugh. "Should have seen you. All those words, and with the way you speak like you couldn't care. Those notes were brave, what are you talking about?"

With a shrug that's accompanied with a shrinking of his shoulders, Louis speaks to the ground. It's obvious that he's conscious of himself in the way he stands. "It's been a while, and I thought I'd give it a go. I tried, you know. It was now or never, and I took the chance while it was still there. When I sent you the first one, I couldn't even regret it because it was done, it was out there, so I gave my best." He looks up, beaming. "I know you're not the kind of person to stop talking to someone if something like this happened."

"What?"

Liam walks in right then, interrupting them on levels he doesn't know of. He stops beside them at the loo sign, and almost joins their bubble, although it was as good as popped now. "Alright, lads?" He asks with an innocent smile.

Harry takes a subtle step back, though he knows Louis notices it. "Hello, Liam," he says cordially.

"Hello yourself," says Liam politely.

Louis glares at him. "Bugger off, won't you?" He gripes at Liam.

He must be used to Louis's snarling because Liam straight up ignores him and asks Harry about his day. The air isn't the same as it was before.

 

***

It's during his morning shower on Sunday, two days later, that Harry realises what Louis meant. When Harry said he had wished he knew Louis better, the man thought Harry was rejecting his advances.

Harry hadn't understood right then, but he feels like an utter piecan now. Figuring out that he's an idiot was a feeling he was accustomed, but it had never felt this heavy.

He slaps his wet hand on his face with a sigh and twists the tap until the shower turns into a drip and into nothing.

 

***

For Christmas hols, they had been given four days from the twenty-second to the twenty-fifth. It had happened after the entire floor had gone and begged Mr Thompson and it was only after they told anecdotes of their families, that Thompson had agreed. Now, Harry didn't have money to go home with how unbelievably expensive the train tickets were during the holiday season, but he's mailed his mum and sister's gifts and has a scheduled Skype session on the 25th. Just like him, he knew the rest of them were making do with the four days, preparing themselves to be hammered on the 26th as soon as they came back. Did they also prepare themselves to be continuously underpaid like Harry? He hadn't gotten a bloody degree for this.

Every year, LinerPro Solutions had a Christmas party on the 24th. It had free alcohol, okay-ish food and someone who always arrived drunk. The company was owned by a bunch of misers, who held the party for namesake since eighty per cent of the employees were home to their families. This year, Harry and most of his floor were the unlucky twenty per cent.

But, he knows Louis will be there. Which makes everything better, even if that the one drunk person will manage to muck everything up.

Monday evening finds him with a wrapped gift in his hand, walking into the lift and pressing the '5' button. When the doors open again, the desks and cubicles have been pushed complete to the side. There's a makeshift bar to one side and an amateur DJ working his magic on another. In the middle, amidst the probing lights are people who are slow dancing and people who are bobbing their heads with drinks in their hands and people who are simply flailing their arms. There's a person who's standing on one of the emptied tables, singing Britney Spears into his empty cup like it's a microphone.

Harry rolls his eyes at the token drunk person before he finds Louis's back hunched over the bar, sitting on a stool.

This is your chance, he tells himself as he makes a beeline towards him. With a deep breath, Harry plops down on the barstool next to him and says an audible 'hi' over the music.

Louis jumps, nearly dropping the glass of clear light he had been cradling imply by his fingers. He's wearing a black t-shirt with something written on it and a pair of black skinnies. He feels conscious in his ugly Christmas jumper. "Harry, hi," he says, again with a grin. He doesn't look or sound drunk. "You look nice. Really nice."

It flusters Harry how Louis does that, he says his name with a smile and says hello. He doesn't mention it though. "Happy birthday," he slides the gift across the countertop.

"You didn't have to get me anything," says Louis in disbelief, even though his fingers are ripping through the paper and opening the lid of the cardboard box. He pulls out two pre-knotted ties of blue and red, that have an adjustable bead at the end." Louis laughs and holds them to his chest. "Lord knows I needed these. Everyone has noticed, but you're the only one who's done something about it."

"There's one more thing in there," Harry reminds him gently.

Dutifully, Louis places the ties on the countertop and looks back in the box. He brings out a sprig of a familiar leaf. "Mistletoe?"

"Hmm," his eyes drawn to Louis's lips. He nods and leans forward to kiss him square on the mouth. Louis freezes and relaxes slowly after Harry's hand comes to cup his cheek. He turns his entire body towards Louis's who's hands slither up his thighs. A soft moan -not understanding who it's from- startles the both of them, but isn't enough to stop just yet.

Harry pulls away with a pop and rubs his lips together with the suppressed smile. The mistletoe hangs by the stem at the edge of the countertop, below which Louis's nails are digging into his own thighs. Louis's cheeks are sucked in, eyes minimally wider. "Oh wow," he revels, scanning Harry's face. "That was..."

"I agree," says Harry, dryly. Though he had quite some confidence to snog Louis, in the beginning, it had worn off with how easy and vulnerable it actually made him. Perhaps, kissing Louis had simply stripped him down, but not enough to cut down his inhibitions. Earlier, his daydreams described a rather comforting image of falling into each other as soon as they kissed. He gestures to the barkeep to come over and orders a glass of Peppermint Schnapps, all while Louis's watching him. In a second, a glass stands before him, but he doesn't want to drink it.

A hand curls around his elbow, "Harry," presses Louis. Upon glancing at him, Louis gives him a bashful smile, just a touch away from looking uncomfortable. Harry is starting to like the look on him these days. "You have a," he points to the side of his own mouth. "You have something there."

Harry's eyebrows slant down in confusion. "What?"

"Chocolate," says Louis at once. "Right there."

It gets Harry smirking before his brain can even turn it over. He hasn't had a bite of chocolate all day, and Louis probably knows that too. He knows what this is, and he can play along knowing Louis is in it too. "Really? Why don't you get it for me?"

At this, Louis is grinning too, and in a second, Harry feels it against his lips. This time, Louis is more active as he pulls Harry's face towards him with a hand. The other hand sneaks towards Harry's stool and drags it in his direction. At the screech and sudden movement, a squeak falls out of Harry's mouth, but he chuckles and goes back to discreetly clambering into Louis's lap.

He doesn't care about anything. He doesn't care if everyone's watching or if the bloody world was criticising him. He especially doesn't care when a voice that sounds suspiciously like Niall's yells out 'Oi, they're finally snogging, you lot!' He doesn't care about anything else but the now.

**Author's Note:**

> Christmas season made me vomit this out. Dunno what I was thinking. 
> 
> Feedback is appreciated. x


End file.
